To Tarnish Gold
by ribbon-acorn
Summary: What would end up differently if Harry, Ron and Hermione were sorted into Slytherin?
1. The Sorting

The boy rested his head against the velvet-lined back of the chair, causing his blond hair to ruffle. He looked the very picture of placid, calm, contained; he lounged on the chair as if he was without a care in the world. There was only one tell-tale sign of the knot of dread in his stomach: his fists clenched the arms of the chair so tightly that his knuckles shone white. He also kept stealing quick, nervous glances at the mahogany-paneled door next to the chair.

A sharp, cold voice spoke from behind the thick mahogany door.

"Draco. Come in."

The boy slid off the chair and, pushing open the door, entered the room.

The room was grand, though it wasn't very large. There was a plush, green rug on the planks of the dark wooden floor, bearing an intricately woven pattern of coiled snakes. Tall pillars supported the domed ceiling. A large desk across the room took up most of the opposite wall. It was laden with objects, some of which looked interesting and others creepy. A live-sized jade skull was poised on the desk, facing across the room. Next to the skull was a potion of a sickly yellow color that was slowly emitting steam.

Behind the desk was a man. He was slowly running his fingers down a wand of black wood, while staring with narrowed eyes off into nothingness. He focused his grey eyes on the boy that was swinging the door to the room closed.

The man pushed his chair back and stood up. "Draco, there you are. Sit down."

"Yes, Father," the boy murmured. He pulled up a chair by the desk.

"Your letter to Hogwarts arrived today," the man began. He pulled open a drawer on the desk and withdrew a thick, creamy-colored envelope addressed to 'Draco Malfoy'. "I expected no less of you, but I am proud that you are carrying on the Malfoy tradition." He offered the boy a chilly smile.

Draco bowed his head. "Thank you, Father."

"Now, as you know, young Harry Potter is in your year at Hogwarts," Lucius Malfoy continued. "I am… interested in the boy." Lucius glanced at the door to the room before continuing. "No one knows how he managed to escape the Dark Lord that night as a child. Little Potter could, perhaps, have strong Dark powers - enough to protect him from from the killing curse. He could be a predecessor to the Dark Lord."

"Yes, Father?" Draco said again, hesitantly. It was obvious that he did not know where this conversation was heading.

Lucius stared at little Draco with such intensity it seemed he was shooting daggers from his eyes, pinning Draco to the chair. "I wish for you to keep tabs on Potter at school. To see if he has the makings of a new Dark Lord."

"What?" Draco blurted out, before clapping a hand over his mouth and ducking his head to the carpet.

"Yes, Draco, you heard me. Inform me of what Potter is doing at school. Is that so hard to understand, or are you to be sorted into Hufflepuff?"

"No, Father." Draco whispered.

"Good boy."

Lucius walked around the desk, and faced Draco. The boy looked up at him. In that moment, it was apparent how similar the father and son looked. They both had silvery-blond hair, steely grey eyes, and a sharply angled face, although Draco's sharp features still clung to the round boyishness of youth. Their icy, pale beauty made many a wizard wonder if the blood of the veela ran in their veins.

"I'm proud of you, Draco," Lucius murmured. "Don't let me down."

Lucius strode past his son and toward the door, his green cloak billowing behind him. As he put his hand on the doorknob, he added:

"And be sure to be Sorted into Slytherin."

And with that, he was gone.

. . . . . . . . . .

 _"Granger, Hermione."_

When Hermione learned about the Hogwarts Sorting, she'd consulted every book she could find about the Hogwarts houses. It was easy to see, just by the way the children sitting at their respective tables behaved, how the Houses differed.

The children at the Ravenclaw table weren't all watching the Sorting. Many were reading books, or sketching in notepads. One boy had whipped out a harmonica and was attempting to play it, but was chastised by an older student. The Hufflepuffs, next to them, were laughing loudly, their arms wrapped around their friend's shoulders. Some were animatedly describing their summer vacations, their hands waving wildly in the air as they spoke. Beside them were the Gryffindors. They were boisterous and noisy, laughing louder than the Hufflepuffs. One boy lobbed a mashed potato at another boy on the other end of the table. Two redheaded Gryffindors were jeering and booing everytime a young Slytherin got sorted.

The Slytherins were at the far end of the Hall. Two girls were playing chess at the Slytherin table, as a group of boys huddled together. When Hermione strained her ears, she could hear them discussing Quidditch strategies.

Hermione had decided that Gryffindor was the House she wanted, as soon as she first read about Hogwarts. Any House that churned out the likes of Albus Dumbledore was the House for her. Ravenclaw was her next option. Hermione loved books and learning, and Ravenclaw's values were her right up her alley. Hufflepuff valued hard work, so Hermione figured that the House couldn't be too bad, but Slytherin… Hermione didn't like a single thing she'd read about it. Values cunning and ambition? Hermione wasn't an idiot, she knew that that was a code for a House full of cheaters and slackers. And Slytherin's obsession with blood purity? Hermione herself was a Muggleborn. She wouldn't be able to fit into that House. And Voldemort himself was from Slytherin, too? Well, put it all together and you get a House that is a very bad match with Hermione.

Hermione heard her name get called. As if on her own accord, her legs stumbled down the passage between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables to the stool with the Sorting Hat. She could feel heat burning her cheeks as she jammed the hat on her head. The last thing she saw before the overlarge hat fell over her eyes was Professor McGonagall's encouraging smile.

 _"Well, well,_ well," a little voice in her head whispered. Hermione tensed. _"This is interesting."_

"How so?" Hermione challenged under her breath.

 _"Very rarely do I see Muggleborns with an aptitude for Slytherin. Last Muggleborn Slytherin I Sorted was, oh, thirty five years ago. Nobby Leach. Wonderful boy, he became the Minister of Magic, did you know?"_

"Yes, actually," Hermione said eagerly. "He was the first Muggleborn Minister of Magic."

 _"I see you've done your research,"_ the hat said, sounding amused. _"You could certainly be in Ravenclaw. Alas, that is simply to boring. I've been doing this job for hundreds of years, and if there is anything I hate it's a predictable Sorting."_

"Mm," Hermione agreed nervously.

 _"I see you could be in Gryffindor as well, plenty of nerve and daring here if you prod deep enough. But still, there is so much untapped potential in putting you in Slytherin. What with all of the pureblood mania these days, it'll do some of the kids good to have a Muggleborn in their House."_

"Wait," Hermione muttered to the hat, nervousness bubbling up in her stomach. "What are you doing?"

"SLYTHERIN!"

Hermione's eyes widened with horror. As she lifted the hat off of her head, she saw a few Slytherins whooping and clapping for their new Housemate. But a chorus of jeers and hisses broke through. The two ginger-haired boys from Gryffindor stood on their seats and booed her through cupped hands.

The knot of fear was pulled taut.

"Professor, wait!" Hermione cried. But Professor McGonagall just shook her head sympathetically, and went on to call the next first year up to the hat. As if in a daze of dread, Hermione fumbled towards the sea of green-adorned students. Her new House.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

 _"Potter, Harry."_

"Potter? Potter, did she say?"

"Harry Potter?"'

"The Harry Potter?

The students around him craned their necks to stare at Harry, whispering to their peers and casting sideways glances at Harry's forehead. Harry's stomach turned and lurched. He felt nauseous, like he was about to throw up.

Harry pushed through the cluster of first years, muttering 'excuse me's as he went. Ron patted Harry on his back before they broke away. Harry felt a tingle of pleasure - his first real friend! - but the happy feeling was quickly swamped by the consuming dread that clung to him.

As he walked down the aisle between the tables, he fastened his eyes on the stone floor. Even though he couldn't see the people around him, he could feel their stares searing into him.

Snippets of their whispered conversations burned in Harry's ears as he passed them.

"He looks just like how the books describe him-"

"Where's his scar, I can't see it, his head is down-"

"Hey, Harry!"

Harry glanced up, to see Fred and George Weasley waving to him. They looked elated that they could show off how they helped Harry Potter board the train. He offered them a half-hearted smile.

Harry approached the wooden stool nervously, lifting the hat up and settling it on his head. It immediatly slipped over his face, causing his glasses to tumble to his lap.

 _"Hmm…"_ a little voice murmured. _"Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes - and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting… so where shall I put you?"_

Harry squeezed his eyes closed so tightly that patterns blossomed behind his eyelids. He thought suddenly back to the smirking, pale face of Draco Malfoy.

Not Slytherin, Harry begged. Anything but Slytherin.

 _"Not Slytherin, eh?"_ the Sorting Hat muttered, sounding amused. _"Are you sure? You could be great, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness, no doubt about that."_

Not Slytherin. Not -

 _"Don't try to argue with me, I've made up my mind. SLYTHERIN!"_

Harry's eyes shot open as McGonagall lifted the hat off his head.

A chorus of gasps and muttering echoed around the Hall. The hundreds of eyes trained on Harry turned cold and glaring. Suddenly, Harry wanted nothing more than for the stone floor to swallow him up. He jammed his glasses on, slid off the stool and scrambled over to Slytherin. He plopped down next to Hermione Granger from the train. Hermione's eyes looked strangely glassy. Harry sighed and glanced at Ron, still huddled in the crowd of unSorted first years. Ron was staring at Harry with shock, his head tipped to one side, vague pain written on his face.

Ron is Gryffindor-bound, Harry reflected, and even I know Gryffindors and Slytherins don't get along.

. . . . . . . . . . . .

 _"Weasley, Ron."_

Ron had waited for this day for years. Fred and George used to tease him, telling him that the Sorting involved wrestling a troll, or correctly producing a complicated bit of magic. At night in bed he'd fantasized it, the way he'd swagger up to whatever he had to face, the way he'd be Sorted so quickly and decisively that the teachers would be talking about it for decades to come.

Still, Ron was pleased that he only had to try on a hat. It looked a lot simpler than having to put a mountain troll in a headlock.

When Harry had been Sorted into Slytherin, however, Ron's elated mood took a blow. His first friend at Hogwarts, doomed to be his enemy.

Everyone knows, Ron thought morosely, that Slytherins and Gryffindors hate each other. He wondered if Harry knew. If Harry didn't know, Ron wondered if Harry would still be his friend.

Ron heard his name called. He tried not to think about the uncomfortably loud beating of his heart in his chest. He surged down the aisle between the tables, plastering a confident grin on his face. He highfived Fred's hand as he passed his twin brothers, and waved a little at Percy all the way in the corner.

He settled onto the stool, and yanked the hat over his head, his view of the crowd before him obscured by the mothball-scented darkness.

"Another Weasley, I see," a small voice whispered into Ron's head. Great Merlin, the hat spoke! Ron nearly fell off the stool with surprise. "Plenty of bravery and daring, yes, you would do wonderfully in Gryffindor - but what's this?"

"What's what?" Ron hissed to the hat.

"There's a strong, no, overpowering desire to stand out, to step out of your sibling's shadows," the hat mused. Ron's hands tensed on the edges of the stool. "You think all of your siblings have something you don't. They are Prefects, Quidditch captains and Head Boys. Even Fred and George made a name for themselves as pranksters, and little Ginny is special by default because she's the only girl. You want to be something that sets you apart from the rest of your family, that will make people see you as an individual, not as the unremarkable Weasley brother."

Ron's insides were doing somersaults.

"Gryffindor. Please, just Gryffindor," he pleaded the hat in head.

"Nonsense, boy. You want to stand out? There is no better place than in SLYTHERIN!"

The Hall, or so it seemed to Ron, froze. The Slytherins looked up at their newest member, the blood traitor Weasley, in all his shabby-robed, orange-haired glory, and seemed to be unable to move. Ron's head spun around to the Gryffindor table, hoping, praying, begging -

Fred and George seemed like statues, their hands were frozen in front of themselves like they were about to clap but stopped abruptly. George (who was closer to Ron) had flickering expressions cross his face. Shock. Anger. Confusion. Behind them, Percy's eyebrows were furrowed.

A few Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs applauded politely, breaking the confused silence between the Slytherin and Gryffindor Houses.

A whoop came from the Slytherin table. Harry grinned up at Ron, cheering, sounding remarkably out of place in the quiet Hall. All the same, a bubble of utter terror rose up in Ron's stomach.

"I suggest you move to your new House, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said, perhaps a little tersely. Ron was frozen to the stool. He tried to demand a re-Sorting, but all that came out was a whimper.

"Mr. Weasley, move along now."

Ron, chest clenched, shuffled over to where the Slytherins sat.

Everything his brothers had ever said about Slytherin echoed in his ears. Slytherins are prejudiced against muggleborns. Slytherins are Dark. Slytherins are evil. Slytherins should be banned from the school.

What would his family think of him?


	2. Revelations

"Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak."

Dumbledore's (strange) speech concluded and food popped up onto the table. Harry, who was hungry, shoveled mashed potatoes and gravy onto his plate, and passed them to Ron, who was sitting next to him. Ron absentmindedly took a scoop, but it was clear his mind was elsewhere. Ron's gaze was fixed on the Gryffindor table across the Hall. Harry scanned the Slytherin table. Hermione Granger was slumped in her seat on Harry's other side, picking at her food. Across from Harry was Draco Malfoy, who was casually chatting with a thin, brown-haired boy on his other side, who'd introduce himself as Theodore Nott.

"Harry Potter."

Harry's head swiveled around. Across the table from him, Draco was leaning backward in his chair, his sharp silver-grey eyes fixed on Harry's green ones.

"Welcome to Slytherin, Harry. The best House."

Harry's face must have twitched to reveal his uncertainty, because Draco and Theodore laughed.

"What've those pieces of dragon dung been telling you about Slytherin?" Draco drawled.

"I can guess," the brown-haired boy said, narrowing his eyes at the Gryffindor table. "That we're all Dark, pureblood supremacists, that we're meaner than an enraged nundu?"

"Yes," Harry admitted.

"Well, they aren't wrong," Draco responded, to laughs all around the table. Nearly everyone was listening in, clearly Draco was popular. "But we Slytherins look after our own. Loyal to a fault and all that. All us first years might as well make friends now, because we'll be in classes with each other for another seven years."

Rage churned in Harry's stomach. How dare he try to make friends, after he insulted Ron on the train?

"I don't want to be friends with you," Harry snapped in his most scathing tone of voice.

Draco lifted an arching eyebrow.

"Is this about Weasley? I'm sorry, then," Draco offered, sounding like he couldn't care any less. "I misjudged him. Weasley's a Slytherin. He's a proper pureblood now, not some impoverished blood-traitor like the rest of his family."

"Don't insult my family," Ron growled, looking up for the first time, his blue eyes boring into Draco's.

"Why shouldn't he?" a black boy further down the table challenged. "The Weasleys are the biggest blood-traitors there are, everyone knows that. They're positively in love with muggles. I heard that the dad takes apart microwaves in his free time, trying to see how they work. I'm Blaise Zabini, by the way."

"What's wrong with liking muggle stuff, huh?" snarled Ron, his ears the same shade of bright red as his hair.

"Muggles don't belong in our world," Theodore said importantly, to nods all around the table. "They can't perform magic, and we should keep it that way. Just like we don't mess around with eckeltricity. Muggles just aren't worthy of the ability to wield magic, making them not as important as us. And muggleborns are pretty much freaks. They're just muggles that can do magic. They don't belong at Hogwarts, with us proper wizards."

Just as Ron stood up, looking like he was about to punch someone (Harry wasn't sure he'd stop him), a small voice said:

"I'm muggleborn."

Everyone whipped around to see Hermione, squinting at her dinner and looking like she was fighting back tears.

"A Slytherin muggleborn?" Blaise said, sounding shocked. "There hasn't been a Slytherin muggleborn since…" Blaise trailed off, apparently unable to remember back that far.

"Nobby Leach," Hermione muttered under her breath.

"What's your name?" Draco demanded.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione said, drawing herself up and facing Draco for the first time. Her dark brown eyes held a challenge.

"Why are you here?"

"The Sorting Hat put me here," snapped Hermione, her fists clenching.

"My father will hear about this!" Draco said, with what Harry could tell was suppressed franticness. "Muggleborns are for Hufflepuff and other charity cases! Not Slytherin!"

Hermione snatched up her wand and pointed it at Malfoy, breathing hard. Harry noted the tear-drop that bubbled over her eyelashes and streaked down her brown cheek.

"What're you going to do, hex me?" sneered Malfoy, but Harry noticed with vindictive pleasure that Malfoy's cheeks had paled. "You don't know any curses, muggle-spawn."

"Flipendo," Hermione bit out in a sharp, concise manner. Draco keeled over forward and fell into a platter of pudding. Hermione smirked in a self satisfied manner.

A pale girl with a black bob shrieked, and the rest of the table looked like they were about to behave in a similar manner, when Draco scrambled back up again. His slicked back blond hair had pudding stuck to it, and his eyes held a new respect. He started to sneer something, but Hermione cut him off.

"Don't you dare speak to me like that," Hermione snarled. "I have every right to be here, every right you do! I've been reading up on old pureblood lines, and just because you're an inbred jerk doesn't mean you can talk to me or anyone like that!"

Hermione stopped. She looked strangely majestic, Harry thought, drawn up to her up to her full height, her eyes crackling with electricity. All down the Slytherin table, heads poked out, waiting to see Draco's reaction.

"Draco Malfoy," Draco said slowly, sticking out a hand. "Call me Draco."

Hermione stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, before turning resolutely away. Malfoy's expression turned to anger.

"Well, that seems like a good time to interject," a Slytherin fifth year boy cut in, breaking the tension and drawing the first years' attention away from Draco and Hermione. Harry saw the gleaming prefect badge on his chest. "Welcome to Slytherin, firsties. I'm here to show you to our dormitory. The boys in your year are Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, Blaise Zabini, Gregory Goyle and Vincent Crabbe. There are more boys in this year than normal, so Gregory and Vincent were placed in a separate dormitory. The rest of you are sharing. The girls this year are Pansy Parkinson, Hermione Granger, Millicent Bulstrode, Tracey Davis, and Daphne Greengrass. Got it? Follow me."

The perfect rose just as the dessert plates were whisked away by some invisible force. He strode around the crowd and led the first years out of the Hall.

Harry stared around with wide eyes. Hogwarts was massive, with high ceilings, crowded hallways, and old stone architecture. Suits of armor and tattered tapestries lined the walls. Ghosts, glowing softly, floated from room to room uninhibited by walls.

They reached the end of an abandoned hallway. "The password is 'anguis serpenti'," said the prefect as a panel swung open, revealing a large room behind it.

Harry's first impression of the Slytherin common room was that it was dimly lit, with a greenish glow about it. Harry thought this had something to do with the fact that the windows looked into the bottom of the lake. Long tendrils of seaweed swayed like an underwater forest through the panes.

The prefect strode through the hole in the wall and into dungeon. The first years cautiously eased themselves in after him, and stared around with wide eyes.

There were lots of intricately carved mahogany and ebony tables; the legs of the tables were snakes. They were piled with spellbooks and chess boards and maps of assorted countries. Torches crackled on the walls, their golden light contrasting with the green glow from the windows, and at the opposite end of the long room was a large fireplace. Couches and armchairs dressed in green fabric surrounded soft persian rugs. Some skulls rested above the fireplace, which unnerved Harry at first - before he noticed that they were made of stone and not real bone.

Draco Malfoy strutted forward and reclined in a nearby armchair, staring imposingly around as if he owned the place, while the rest of the first years slowly and uncomfortably moved past him and wandered about the common room.

"Everyone here? Okay. Listen up, I don't repeat things twice," The prefect boy announced. "The only things you need to know here is: don't lose points for Slytherin and don't go around getting friendly with Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs. Feel free to bend the school rules, as long as you don't get caught. Only engage in duels if there isn't a teacher around, and be sure to win. Your dorms are over there -" he gestured to two doors on either side of the fireplace "- girls on the right, boys on the left. Good luck."

The prefect, without further ado, stood up and walked toward some fellow fifth years by the fireplace.

"This place is as wonderful as Father and Mother told me," drawled Draco, pulling out a container of Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, sifting through it for a certain flavor. The boy turned to where Harry and Ron stood uncomfortably. "Harry. Ronald. Care for a jellybean?"

Harry glanced toward a glowering Hermione, then at aristocratic Draco, proffering them a peace offering in the shape of a jellybean.

"Sure," blurted out Ron from next to Harry. Harry turned to Ron in surprise, but Ron seemed as shocked about what he'd said as Harry was. Ron rushed forward, as if he wanted this over with before he lost the nerve. Harry trailed behind him.

Draco smirked, a private smile that wasn't lost on Harry. He pulled out two beans from the little box, and handed them to the boys.

"They're watermelon and peppermint," Draco informed them. "I've gotten quite good at remembering which colors are the better tasting ones." He withdrew out a yellow bean, pulled a face, and tossed it back in the box.

Harry nibbled the end of his bean. It was indeed peppermint, and tasted quite cool and refreshing after the harrowing day.

"So… where do you live?" Harry questioned Draco as he and Ron sunk onto nearby armchairs.

"I live at the Malfoy Manor, in Wiltshire," Draco said conversationally. "It's wonderful. My mum and father live there, plus our three house-elves. And our owls. And our cats. And our peacocks."

"Peacocks?" Ron repeated incredulously, before trying to cover it up with a coughing fit.

"Yes, my father owns several peacocks. To me it seems an unnecessary extravagance. With the money he spends pampering those birds, we could build a whole new wing onto the Manor." Draco shrugged delicately and popped a jelly bean into his house.

Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.

"What about you?" Draco asked Ron and Harry.

"I live with my aunt and uncle," Harry said uncomfortably. "In Little Whining. Surrey."

"Ooh, yes," enthused a Slytherin first year girl, joining them, accompanied by a few other first years. "I'm Daphne Greengrass. I read about you in 'Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century'." Daphne's blue eyes widened. "What's it like living with muggles?"

"I heard that they're awful," another first year put in, her hand unconsciously fiddling with glossy black hair. "I'm Tracy Davis. My dad's a muggle, but I never knew him… mum says that muggles are backstabbing imps. But maybe she's biased," Tracy mused, "because dad cheated on her."

"Well, my muggles are awful, but not all muggles are," Harry told them. "I don't think. I didn't really know many muggles well."

"Why were your muggles awful?" Blaise asked casually, but his expression of intrigue betrayed his curiosity.

"They called me a freak, because my parents were wizards," Harry confided. He wasn't sure why he was telling them these things, but they just spilled from his lips. "They were really scared of magic. They locked me in a boot cupboard at night. My cousin beat me up all the time. I had to do all the household chores. They didn't tell me about the wizarding world, they said my parents died in a car crash. And when I accidently did magic…." Harry couldn't stop now, he was on a roll, the words just kept sliding out. "They beat and starved me." Slowly, Harry displayed his neck. The purple outline of finger marks around his throat were near invisible against his dark skin, but were there nonetheless. "That was for when I did magic at the zoo."

The first years stared at Harry, their mouths agape, their eyes wide.

Ron's expression betrayed total shock and disgust. A few chairs away, Harry saw Hermione listening in, her face full of revulsion. Only Draco looked unsurprised, if a little angry.

"Look what muggles do!" Draco hissed, his voice full of venom. "They beat and starve our kind for using magic! Father told me muggles were scum. Harry's our proof."

"Not all muggles are cruel," Harry protested feebly. "They're like wizards… all different."

"No muggle stopped your relatives from beating you, did they?" pointed out Ron in such a manner that it didn't seem that he was talking to anyone in particular, rather open space. "I didn't know… Father said…" Ron trailed off.

"What your father said was a bunch of pixie piss!" Theodore said violently. "Muggles and magic don't mix! And look what comes of it!" Theodore waved a hand at Harry's neck. Murmurs of agreement resonated around the group, but was cut off by Millicent Bulstrode yawning.

Pansy Parkinson, a pale girl with a black bob, checked her watch.

"It's nearly midnight," Pansy informed the Slytherins. "I'm going to bed."

Stretching and yawning, the Slytherins stumbled to their respective dormitories; Harry, Ron, Draco, Theodore and Blaise all headed through one door into their shared dorm.

The dorm was circular and illuminated, like the rest of the Slytherin common room, with ghostly green light. There were five four poster beds, all positioned along the wall of the dormitory.

Hedwig, Harry's new owl, chittered in her cage when she saw Harry. Hedwig's cage and Harry's trunk were resting next to one of the beds. It had thick forest green curtains you could draw around it to block out other people. Beside the bed was a small table, on which a was a lamp and a silver badge that read: 'Slytherin'.

Harry flopped down on the warm emerald comforter and, without removing his glasses, fell asleep.


	3. Letters

Hermione woke the next morning to Pansy Parkinson's drowsy snoring. Hermione smirked to see Pansy — so composed and put together during the day — with her black bob sticking up and dried drool staining her silver silk pajamas.

Hermione figured was early still, though she wasn't sure what the time was. This was because she lacked a watch, and the green light from lake out the glass-paned windows didn't change much in the day or night.

Hermione turned to her robes. The collar and lining of the robe had turned, presumably overnight, to green, whereas when Hermione had bought it it was a nonspecific grey. Hermione fastened the silver badge that read: 'Slytherin' to the chest of her robes. She straightened her now silver and green tie, picked up a book on Transfiguration, and, walking softly as to not awaken a nearly-stirring Tracy Davis, she slipped out the door and to the common room.

The common room was abandoned and quiet early in the morning. The only signs of life were a pair of snoozing sixth years, who had apparently fallen asleep by the fireplace the night before. There was also a cat that was perched on a table, staring off into nothing with narrowed eyes, and generally looking like it was dead to the world. A clock up on the wall told Hermione that time was 5 o'clock.

Hermione, book in hand, settled into a sofa and began to read. She'd already reached Chapter Two (Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration), when she realized she wasn't alone. Across from her, on an opposite armchair, sprawled a blond-haired boy.

Hermione peered out at Draco Malfoy over the top of her book. Draco didn't seem to have noticed Hermione was there, either. He was writing something, his quill scritch-scratching on the parchment. He seemed deep in concentration: his eyebrows were furrowed and he sucked the top of the black eagle-feather quill as if contemplating what to write next.

"Draco?"

Hermione and Draco's heads shot up. Harry Potter was standing in the doorway to the dormitories, striding toward them. Draco noticed Hermione was there for the first time, he hurriedly slipped the parchment he was writing behind a pillow. Hermione narrowed her eyes. _Suspicious._

"I couldn't sleep, let's go get breakfast," Harry said to Draco. Draco glanced at the pillow behind which the paper lay, and then at Hermione.

"Come _on_ , Draco, I'm starving, and Ron isn't up yet!"

"Coming," Draco mumbled, and he hurried after Harry out of the common room.

Hermione stared at the corner of the parchment poking out from behind the pillow. She shouldn't look, she should mind her own business, but still… Hermione glanced around the room once more to check that no one was there, before reaching a hand and slipping the paper out from behind the pillow. Hermione scanned the letter. In elegant cursive, it read:

 _Dear Father,_

 _I have arrived at Hogwarts. As a whole, the school is satisfactory. I have been Sorted into Slytherin, of course. The common room is fine, if a little gloomy. The dormitory has nothing on my room at the manor. Do you think you could convince Dumbledore to get me my own room?_

 _I have been watching Potter, like you asked. He has been Sorted into Slytherin as well. He seems respectable enough, though he lacks the proper behavior one expects from a member of an old pureblood family. I suppose this is understandable, as he has been raised by muggles and didn't even know about magic. Did you know that Potter's muggle relations abused him? Potter showed us the marks on his neck. I don't suppose_

And there the letter ended, cut off abruptly because Draco was called away. Hermione ran a finger over the smears of red ink. It almost looked like blood.

 _I've been watching Potter, like you asked._

Why would Draco's order him to watch Harry? Try as she might, Hermione couldn't figure out an answer, beyond the fact that Harry had conquered You-Know-Who as a kid.

 _Lucius will be disappointed_ , Hermione mused, _if he expects Harry to be something special._ Harry seemed like an average kid to Hermione, so far.

Hermione glanced up as the door to the dormitory swung open again, this time spilling out a bleary-looking Tracy Davis and Millicent Bulstrode, as well as several third-years. Hermione carefully slipped the letter back behind the pillow. Draco needn't know it was ever taken out.

Hermione, book under her arm, headed out of the common room.

She mounted the stairs to the ground floor of Hogwarts. Early-morning sunlight streaked through the windowpanes in pale, clear, yellow beams.

Hermione arrived in the Great Hall. There was a sleepy buzz of students eating food and getting ready for the day. Hermione sat down at the Slytherin table, and took a bite of pancake. Across from her, Draco was casting suspicious glares in her direction. Hermione blinked back innocently at him.

"So, Hermione," Harry said. "What do your parents do for a living?"

"My parents are dentists," Hermione said coldly, staring down Draco as she did, challenging him to say a word.

"Oh, cool," Harry said awkwardly.

" _Dentists,"_ snorted Draco. "Ridiculous Muggles. Ridiculous."

"Just because wizards can use spells to fix your teeth doesn't mean Muggles can," Hermione said in a scathing tone.

Pansy Parkinson flounced over to the table, her shiny black bob bouncing around her shoulders, and her skin once more flawless and caked in makeup. Hermione wondered vaguely how Pansy could eat without smudging her blood-red lipstick.

Pansy cast a scornful look at Hermione, before settling into a seat beside Draco.

"Flying today," enthused Ron, taking a seat next to Hermione. "I hope I make the team, come second year!"

"I'll definitely make the team," Draco drawled. "Father has been teaching me how to fly, and I fancy myself rather talented on the broom."

"What type of brooms does the school use?" Hermione asked tentatively. She wasn't sure that anyone would answer her, but she'd been reading up on the all the kinds of brooms. Apparently, they all required different maneuvering techniques depending of the type.

"Cleansweep… 4, I think?" Blaise said scornfully. Hermione didn't think he'd heard who was asking, he just wanted an opportunity to rant about brooms. "It's stupid. They should at least have a Nimbus 600. That's what we have at home."

"I always flew at home, too," Draco agreed, getting into his stride. "I would fly at cloud level on my Ashblaze 100 -" he waited a moment while the table oohed appreciatively "- and of course, there were Muggles up there, flying their strange, clunky contraptions -" Draco launched into a story involving almost smashing into a Muggle helicopter. Ron chimed in to add a story about his brother's broom and a hang glider.

Finally breakfast ended. The first years all gathered their things, and started off towards their first class: Transfiguration.

Professor McGonagall was strict and sharp. She demonstrated to the class by turning her desk into a pig, before distributing matches that they were to turn into needles. Hermione, forehead furrowed with effort, was slaving over her needle. It had gotten more pointy, surely.

Draco was pulling faces at McGonagall's back as the teacher leaned over Tracy Davis's match. This earned withering looks from the Hufflepuffs on the opposite end of the room. Hermione didn't mind, though, because the Professor complimented Hermione's match, which had achieved a silvery tint and was sharp enough to poke yourself on.

All along the corridor to their next class - Defence Against the Dark Arts - Draco mocked McGonagall's strict features, sucking his lips into a thin line and adopting the Professor's strong Scottish brogue.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was a bit of a let down, Hermione conceded. It smelled strongly of garlic, and Professor Quirrell seemed more jumpy than a rabbit. It didn't help that Draco sneered throughout the whole class about how stupid this was, and how any _proper_ magic school would teach actual Dark Arts.

None of the Slytherins seemed keen on talking to Hermione, and that suited her just fine. Draco and the purebloods sniffed aristocratically whenever she spoke to them and pointedly ignored her, unless they were making some snarky remark on the inferiority of muggles and muggleborns. Ron and Harry seemed alright, but Ron was miffed that she kept out performing them in class, and had resorted to making underhanded remarks about her lack of friends. Harry would respond to Hermione's questions, but never initiated conversation.

So Hermione strode in front of the cluster of chattering Slytherins, her bulging bag that was packed with books and parchment and ink bottles bouncing against the back of her knees as she walked, a precariously tottering pile of textbooks titling in her arms. Hermione sped up - she wanted to arrive at Potions class early.

 **Author's Note:** Thank you so much for reading my story! Please review! (Sorry if this chapter is a bit short.)


	4. The Gryffindors

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I'm sorry I'm so inconsistent about updating. I've also just realized, I haven't included a disclaimer on my other chapters. So just so you know: I don't own Harry Potter, (unfortunately), which extends to my previous chapters as well.**

* * *

The Potions dungeon was dark and gloomy, and more than slightly unsettling. Dead animals floating in some sort of preservative rested in jars on the packed shelves. Bubbling potions of unnaturally glowing colors crowded the desks, casting eerie, multi-colored lights on the shadowy stone walls. Bunches of dried herbs hung from the low ceiling, and they brushed the tips of Ron's hair as he walked beneath them. Ron gulped as he saw a barrel full of small gleaming orbs, labeled 'bird eyeballs'.

Ron glanced around the dungeon - no teacher in sight. Fred and George had told all sorts of stories about the Potions Master. They said he resembled an over-grown bat and was a Death Eater to boot. Ron didn't know if that was true - Fred and George's stories rarely were - but Ron knew that even Percy (who was by far the least likely of his brothers to speak ill of a professor) was prone to grumble about Snape's obvious bias to the Slytherin House.

Ron glanced at Harry, who offered him a nervous grin. The pair moved over to one of the tables and settled down. Draco, Theodore and Pansy took seats at the table next to them.

Students slowly started filtering into the classroom, (casting wary glances at the heap of bird eyeballs in the corner), before settling into desks, tense with anticipation. Two Gryffindors took the seats across the table from Harry and Ron. One was a blond-haired boy with nervous eyes that flitted around the room. Ron recognized him as Neville Longbottom, the boy who lost his toad on the train. The other Gryffindor was a girl named Parvati Patil. She kept stealing peeks at Harry's scar. Harry glanced over at her, and Patil hurriedly averted her eyes. As soon as Harry looked away, the girl went right back staring. Ron felt a tingle of irrational jealousy.

"You're Patil, right?" Ron interjected. Patil turned cold, dark eyes on him.

"Yes. And you're Weasley."

Ron started to grin at being recognized so quickly, but Patil cut him off with a chilly glare.

"A Weasley in Slytherin, it's as absurd as a fish climbing a tree. I suppose in every family there's an odd one out. I still don't know how the Weasleys managed to turn out a Dark kid, though. They seem like such a great family."

Ron was confused. Had Patil implied that he was Dark? Ron felt the heat rush to his ears. Had he said something wrong? What made Patil think Ron was Dark?

"What? I'm not Dark, what'd you?-"

"Of course you're Dark, you're in Slytherin," Patil snapped, waving a hand. "And even if you aren't Dark now, you will be. I feel really bad for the Weasleys, they'll be so upset that their kid cares about Blood supremacy. Well, I'll have you know, I'm a Halfblood and proud of it."

"I don't give a flying frog's finger what your Blood status is," Ron said, hurt and slightly irritated. "I'm not one of _those_ sorts of Pureblood."

"You're in _Slytherin_ , Weasley," Patil said slowly and clearly, as if Ron had said something that was supposed to make her laugh, but she didn't find remotely amusing. "Of _course_ you care about people's Blood status. I've never met a Slytherin who didn't. And anyway, look who you hang out with." Patil pointed behind Ron, finishing her rant with the air of someone who'd just won an argument, and they knew it.

Ron turned to where Patil gestured, and saw Draco conversing at the table behind him. Draco smiled when he saw Ron looking, and nodded a greeting back at him.

Patil smirked. "The Malfoys are the biggest Blood supremacists that have ever gone to Hogwarts. The dad was a Death Eater, you know. And I've heard you're cozying up to Potter? Just as well. Potter's got it in his head to be the next You-Know-Who, I heard the other Gryffindors talking about it. Mark my words, Weasley, you'll be just as Dark as them all in the end."

Ron's anger flared, and his hand clenched into a fist. How _dare_ that Gryffindor speak about Draco and Harry like that? Patil just smiled sweetly and turned away, fingering her gold-and-red Gryffindor badge.

Ron glowered so fiercely in Patil's direction that it drew Harry's attention away from a conversation he'd struck up with Longbottom.

"Hey, are you okay?" Harry asked concernedly. Ron nodded stiffly. He couldn't trust himself to speak - if he did he might either punch someone or burst into tears.

"Was it Patil?" Harry questioned, casting a dark look at at the Gryffindor girl, who had moved tables so that she could sit with her Housemates.

"Stupid Gryffindors," growled Ron, fury tingling in the tips of his ears. "Stupid _gits_. I don't think you're Dark, Harry," he added.

"Thanks?" Harry said with bemusement.

At that moment, a hush fell across the room. Harry and Ron twisted in their seats in unison with the rest of the class, as the Potions Master swept into the room.

Professor Severus Snape looked exactly like how you'd imagine a man that spent all his time brewing potions in the deepest recesses of Hogwarts would look. The man was pale and sallow, his skin was stark white, which contrasted sharply with the stringy black hair that hung around his head in a greasy curtain. The Professor's black cloak billowed behind him as he swept around the room. Professor Snape turned his piercing black eyes on each student in turn, glaring down at them from his long, hooked nose. Just as the class was becoming slightly uncomfortable, Professor Snape pulled a sheet of paper from his robes with a flourish, and proceeded to read the roll call. He called the Gryffindor names with indifference, but when he reached 'Malfoy, Draco,' he offered a thin smile to the blond-haired Slytherin. There was a rustle of parchment, and -

"Potter, Harry," Professor Snape murmured, his expressionless eyes flickering to where Harry sat. "Indeed… our new… _celebrity_."

The Gryffindors snickered loudly.

"Five points from Gryffindor for making noise out of turn," Professor Snape said sharply.

The Gryffindors stifled their laughter at once, and sent sullen looks in the direction of Professor Snape. Ron and Harry traded grins.

Professor Snape then launched into a lecture about the precise art of potion-making. By the time his speech had begun to address the 'softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes,' Ron felt a surge of amusement. This nutcase was the head of Slytherin? He glanced around the room at his classmates while Professor Snape began to croon about the way potions creep through human veins.

The Gryffindors were listening with undisguised contempt. Patil's eyebrows looked in danger of vanishing into her hairline if they were raised any higher. Some Gryffindor bloke named Dean Thomas was snickering into his hands.

The other Slytherins, although looking vaguely amused by their Head of House's eccentricity, were at least not laughing to their hands. Some of them seemed slightly bored - Theodore and Millicent had begun a game of hangman in the margins of their textbook.

Hermione Granger, alone in the class, was scrawling notes quickly on a piece of parchment, her quill bobbing up and down as she spatted ink in a hurry to keep up with the Professor's speech.

"Potter!" Professor Snape shot at Harry suddenly, making everyone jump; There was a crash as Longbottom's potion textbook tumbled to the floor. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged. He'd only just started the year, after all. He hoped there wasn't going to be a quiz on this.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. Professor Snape ignored her, his black eyes fixed on Harry.

"I'm not sure, sir," Harry admitted.

Snape smirked.

"Tut, tut… it appears that fame isn't everything. Let's try again… where would you look if I told you to find a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand quivered in the air, her arm stretched far above her head, but Professor Snape again ignored it.

"I don't know, sir," Harry confessed from behind Ron.

The Gryffindors laughed loudly.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, I would be delighted to make it twenty if you choose to laugh in my class again," Professor Snape spat. "I don't suppose you can tell me, Potter, what the difference is between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"Sir!" burst out Hermione, not letting Harry have a chance to speak. "Monkshood-and-wolfsbane-are-the-same-plant-and-a-bezoar-is-found-in-the-stomach-of-a-goat-and-asphodel-"

"Do be quiet, Miss Granger," Professor Snape drawled. "On the other hand, five points to Slytherin for knowing your facts, which is more than I can say for _some_ members of Slytherin House."

There was an outraged sputtering at the Gryffindor side of the room. Ron sent a triumphant grin at them, causing the Gryffindor's faces to crumble into scowls.

 _They got what was coming to them,_ Ron thought with vindictive pleasure, _after insulting all my friends to my face._

Professor Snape finished the roll call, then instructed the class to get into pairs of two. Ron and Harry immediately migrated to each other's sides, which left Longbottom out in the cold, as he was the only person left at their table.

Ron squinted at the blackboard at the other end of the room, on which the instructions on how to make a boil-curing potion were written. It was hard to make out the chalk scrawl in the dim lighting of the dungeon. Seeing around in the low light was made harder by the fact that Longbottom's cauldron was routinely catching fire and emitting billows of thick green smoke.

"Er… I think we're supposed to add another porcupine quill?" Ron related, his eyes straining to see through the dense smoke. Harry cautiously dropped in a quill, just as an ominous rumble rattled out from Longbottom's smoking cauldron. A spray of sludge-like brown goop exploded from Longbottom's cauldron. Ron yelped as the liquid splashed onto his arm. Red, irritated boils began to bubble up on Ron's skin. Ron glared fiercely at Longbottom, who looked positively pathetic, his blue eyes wide with mortification, brown potion dripping off his robes and causing boils to inflate across his arms and neck.

"Stupid boy!" Professor Snape growled, whisking the mess away with a slash of his wand. Longbottom huddled behind his half-melted cauldron as if it would protect him from the Professor's wrath. "You should have done your potion as Mr. Malfoy did," Snape snarled, gesturing to Draco and Hermione's cauldron, where a textbook-perfect potion was fizzing away. Draco smirked self-satisfyingly and ran a hand over his slicked, white-blond hair, but Hermione looked slightly irritated that she didn't get any credit for the potion.

Class was dismissed, so that the students with boils on them could go to the Hospital Wing and be treated.

...

Fifteen minutes later, Ron sat on the crisply folded sheets of a Hospital Wing bed. Madam Pomfrey was bustling about, rubbing a white paste on the boil-covered students and tut-tutting about how Hogwarts needed a safer school environment. Harry, although he hadn't been splashed by Longbottom's potion, had gone up to the Hospital Wing with Ron. Draco, most likely spotting an opportunity to leave class early, had also accompanied them.

Draco was reclined in a nearby chair, while Harry perched at the end of Ron's bed, chatting with Ron to cheer him up.

"Look at this!" Harry announced, procuring an envelope from his pocket. "This'll cheer you up, Ron, look!"

It was an invitation to visit Hagrid's cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest that evening.

"I'm going to go, do either of you want to come with me?" Harry asked.

"I'll come," Ron agreed, allowing Madam Pomfrey to slather another coat of paste onto his rapidly deflating boils.

Harry grinned at Ron, then turned to glance at Draco.

"I know you don't really like Hagrid," Harry began. "But if you want to come with us, that would be great."

Draco's pale face was a battlefield of emotion. Ron couldn't quite make out the emotions that were flickering across the young Malfoy's face because the sharp features were quickly wiped blank, back onto Draco's default expression, 'haughty boredom'.

"Alright, I'll go with you," Draco agreed. "I've never met this Hagrid man before. Father says he's a downright oaf, always had a worrisome interest in dangerous monsters." Draco leaned forward in a confidential way. "Hagrid even asked the Ministry if he could purchase a chimera a few years back. Imagine that. A chimera!"

Ron bit his lip. Chimeras were extremely dangerous monsters. What would the Hogwarts gamekeeper want with one of those?

"I think Hagrid's wonderful," Harry said stoutly. "Nobody's making you come, anyway."

Draco muttered something that sounded like a mix between ' _I'm sorry'_ , and ' _if a great bearded idiot attacks me with a chimera my father will hear about it.'_

"I'm coming along," Draco said, more clearly. Harry beamed.

* * *

 **A/N:** **Please review!**


End file.
